


Discord Made Me Do It

by sElkieNight60 (orphan_account)



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Batman and Robin (Comics), DCU, DCU (Comics), Robin (Comics)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Fluff, Fluff and Crack, Gen, Nightmares, Painkillers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-21
Updated: 2020-04-29
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:27:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23768449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/sElkieNight60
Summary: A compilation of fics posted to my Tumblr, but inspired by conversations had on Discord.
Relationships: Batfamily - Relationship
Comments: 32
Kudos: 124
Collections: Gotham Square (Batfam Discord Fics)





	1. When You're Smiling, (the Whole World Smiles With You)

**Author's Note:**

> Thought I'd make a collection of fics not long enough to be their own fic here on Ao3, but I don't want to permanently lose them on Tumblr either. Fics here were all inspired by or the direct result of conversations had on [Bat Family 18+ Discord](https://discord.gg/884WbcR). Thank you to my guys, gals and non-binary pals over there.
> 
> [My Tumblr](https://selkienight60.tumblr.com/).

Something was wrong. Damian could tell. For one, Father was smiling. Bruce Wayne, Batman, did not smile. The best he ever managed was a slight twitch of his lips. Praise was equally as rare, which was why Damian hoarded it like gold. He sought it out, like sunshine. The times Damian saw his Father truly smile could be counted on one hand. Sure, Brucie Wayne smiled for the cameras and the tabloids and the journalists, but it was an act, a charade. Damian aspired to one day be able to fool his enemies so easily.

But right now his father was smiling at him so broadly that Damian wondered if his face might split into two, (and wasn't that just a horrifying mental image).

Bruce looked back down at the report in his hand, bound by red thread and made with thick cardboard―the kind that was strangely expensive, and then looked back up again at Damian, still wearing that frightening expression. He wasn't saying anything either, which didn't exactly help.

“Richard―” he called out, hoping beyond all hope that Grayson was within hearing range. Even to Damian's ears he sounded frightened; a tiny, squeak of a noise that Mother had beaten out of him long ago. “Richard!”

The panic in his voice must have registered. Dick came skittering into the room in a hurry, frown crinkling up his brow.

“Dames, what's wrong―?”

Damian lifted a finger. “Father is smiling, please make it stop.”

“I think he's been doused with something,” Damian continued, unable to look away. “He's been looking at me like that for an entire minute now. Did Drake happen to spill Joker venom somewhere?”

Finally, Father's face changed―oh, thank god. It didn't matter that he looked outrageously offended by the comment, at least they were back in familiar territory now.

To his left, Dick snorted unhelpfully.

“I'm _proud_ of you Damian,” Bruce said. “This is a really excellent report card. You're doing so well in all of your subjects and your homeroom teacher says you've made a few friends.”

“Not friends,” he countered. “Minions.”


	2. Sqwooshing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shout out to [Fanfictiongreenirises](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fanfictiongreenirises/pseuds/fanfictiongreenirises) for this one 😉!
> 
> Me @ me while writing this: _Is it crack? Is that what you smoke? You smoke crack?_

It had been a hard night. The kind of patrol that only ever happened once in a blue moon. The kind that was so awful that it left a horrible feeling in the pit of Damian's stomach and the taste of something bitter and biting in his mouth.

The worst part? It was all Damian's fault. He should have seen the incompetent, degenerate mugger heading for him. The hammer in his hand was raised high, the kind one might use to hit down tent pegs―flat on one surface, but wide. Damian hadn't seen it, not until it was too late. He was too slow. Mother would have left him to suffer the consequences, but Father… _(Damian didn't want to admit it, but it was true)_ , Father was kinder.

There was no time to think or to move. The terrified cry of, _“Robin!”_ pierced the night air, just as Damian managed to raise his hands above his head. _Hopefully it would be enough._ If the hammer passed through his defences it would split his skull, at least this way he would end up with only a broken arm… or maybe two.

The glint of the moon off the metal was the last thing Damian saw before a mass of shadow passed in front of him, pain colliding with the sound of bone, crunching under heavy weight. It was sickening to listen to. It turned Damian's stomach, which was no easy feat considering his formative years. The noise startled Damian into opening his eyes, blinking through the blackness to determine that the shadow in front of him was, in fact, Batman.

The mugger was on the ground, unconscious, although Damian didn't know how he had come to be there or in that state. And Batman… _Father_ was clutching one shoulder, visible parts of his face crumpled up with agony.

Damian didn't even manage a single word before Batman supplied, “It's alright, Robin. I'm alright,” wincing through the pain.

“Your arm―” he said, far too shakily. Damian's emotions were getting the best of him. The only logical, reasonable explanation for that was that he was spending too much time with Richard.

“Will be alright,” Father nodded, unconvincingly, wincing. Patrol ended there that night, but nothing could have prepared him for the following day.

Breakfast was a quiet affair.

Damian came down to the table where Pennyworth had already set a place for him.

“Your father is not to be joining you this morning, Master Damian,” Pennyworth announced, setting down baked beans on toast before him. Damian wrinkled his nose disdainfully at the food. The boring meals were still terribly bland for his tastes.

“The blow to his arm last night did some damage,” Pennyworth continued with a sniff. “He'll be laid up for a few weeks, I suspect. I took his meal and medication in earlier.”

Damian's head turned at the comment. “Father is awake?” he asked.

Pennyworth quirked an eyebrow and gave a single nod. “Indeed.”

The knife betwixt his fingers felt cold and sharp as he fiddled with it nervously. It was ridiculous to be nervous, Damian knew, but some small part of him wondered if Pennyworth blamed him for his father's condition as much as he blamed himself.

_If only he had been paying better attention._

“May I…” he began weakly, then cleared his throat. Stronger, this time, anew, “May I speak with him?”

He couldn't be quite sure, but some of the sharpness in Pennyworth's inscrutable gaze seemed to soften.

“Of course,” Pennyworth gave another nod. “So long as you finish you breakfast.”

Damian had never inhaled a meal faster.

The minute permission was given he was out of the room like a lightning bolt, up the stairs and past the landing, down the hall and then standing directly outside his father's room.

_The stabbing sensation in his chest was not unlike that of a hot iron, poking, poking, poking._

With a deep breath to settle the guilt, Damian knocked.

The reply took a moment. It did nothing to help his fraying nerves.

“Come in.”

The door-handle felt like a tonne of lead under his fingers.

Father was propped up in bed, right arm in a sling against his chest, hair mussed with sleep and with a breakfast tray on his lap. Damian keenly noted that the medication Pennyworth had supplied seemed to have already been taken. Good. That was good.

Carefully, Damian approached the bed. Father tapped the covers and his eyes crinkled a little at the sides. That meant he wasn't mad at Damian.

Slowly, he lowered himself down lightly.

“Father…” he began, apology forming on his lips; the sight of the sling only made him feel worse. “Father, I―”

“Damian,” Bruce interrupted forcefully, grabbing his face with his free hand. It was so unexpected that Damian froze under the man's touch, calloused fingers digging into his cheeks. What was this? Was Father mad at him after all?

“Damian,” he said again. And then _smiled_.

He blinked. “Yesh?” He asked nervously, unable to speak clearly through the grip. He could twist out of it easily, but he didn't want to hurt Father.

Father squeezed his cheeks twice more. “Sqwoosh sqwoosh,” he said. Incomprehensibly.

“Fabber?” Damian questioned, feeling a pool of dread rush into his stomach like a rapid swell of water. “Wat're you doin'?”

“All aboard the sqwooshing train,” he said, ignoring Damian completely it seemed, and continuing to squish his face between thick fingers. “Sqwooshing train goes _sqwoosh sqwoosh!”_

“Fabber,” he asked, horrified, “hab you combetely lost your mind?”

From the doorway, Damian heard a snigger.

“Pennyworb!” he shouted. “Wat hab you done to fabber?”

Pennyworth smirked. _And then procured a camera._ “Painkillers, Master Damian,” he said, snapping a picture. “Master Bruce will probably need them for a few days more, but the side effects should wear off in a few hours.”

“ _Sqwoosh!”_ said Father one last time as Pennyworth disappeared from the doorway. “Your cheeks are so sqwooshy, Damian. _So sqwooshy!”_

“ _Pennyworb!”_ Damian shouted to the retreating form. “Helb! Come back! Pennyworb!”


	3. Sleep Talk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In a totally wild and unexpected plot twist, the Bat Family 18+ Discord makes me write yet another headcanon.

Arkham breakouts were par for the course in Gotham. It would be almost like clockwork—if clocks were violent and unpredictable. All feet were on the ground. Each available bat off on their own to tackle one of the many rogues now loose in the city. **  
**

Red Robin had volunteered to take the Joker and Batman had not blinked twice about it. The offer had been a relief, really. Bruce couldn’t assign the clown prince of crime to Red Hood—there were just too many reasons why that was a bad idea. Nor could he ask Nightwing to tackle him, Dick had already killed the man once, he didn’t want to risk it a second time. Spoiler and Robin were simply too inexperienced and Batgirl was the only one he could trust to handle the brutality that was Waylon Jones without coming home with a few broken bones.

So Red Robin it was.

In the heat of the moment, Bruce hadn’t stopped to consider whether or not _he_ should have swapped to tackle The Joker instead of subduing Two Face, but Tim had been closer and Bruce was all the way over the other side of the city.

The faith Batman placed in Red Robin wasn’t amiss. Tim was smart and clever and planned for all of The Joker’s usual tricks, leading to an almost easy arrest according to Tim’s report, but Bruce had seen the hunted look in Tim’s eyes and couldn’t in good conscience allow Tim to disappear back to his apartment, hole himself up and pretend he was fine.

The twisted ankle Red Robin had sustained was enough. “It could be sprained,” Bruce had said, steering Tim towards the stairs of the cave. “You should stay the night just in case it needs icing in the morning.”

From his peripheral, he’d noted Dick smirking at him, to the tune of Tim’s protests; “I have ice at home, B!”

Thankfully, one look from Alfred had been enough to quell Tim’s short lived uprising.

Bruce always found it strange when more than one of his children stayed the night. The manor had never been particularly full, despite the amount of children he had. But tonight, Dick had volunteered to stay; _for Tim’s sake, of course_ , he had claimed against Bruce’s better understanding. And Jason had slunk off somewhere before Bruce had even realised he’d made it back to the cave with the rest of them— _although he did find Jason later, curled up in the library reading Jane Austen_. Cass had strolled right past him with a wink, ushering Damian upstairs before collapsing into her own room, untouched. And Stephanie had wandered off to the movie room, popped on some obscure animation that Bruce didn’t even know they owned, and then promptly fallen asleep there.

It was awfully early in the morning by the time Bruce was doing a final lap, checking the perimeter and his tired children.

Tim was one of the few who had actually made it into a bed and Bruce couldn’t resist sneaking in to run a hand over the furrowed brow, planting a soft kiss there and running his thumb over twice.

It elicited a few incoherent mumbles and Bruce couldn’t help but chuckle. Tim had always been a sleep talker, it was one of the many things Bruce found so endearing and adorable about him. The little things that, despite Tim’s shield, his wall up against the world, allowed Bruce to see through the tough facade to his beloved little Robin, growing and learning every day. Becoming the outstanding man that Bruce had always known he would be.

It didn’t take much. The slightest nudge was enough to get him mumbling.

“Good dream?” Bruce muttered, pulling close the armchair that resided in Tim’s room and falling into it bonelessly.

Tim groaned. Low and pained. _“Joker…”_ was all he said, but it was enough to snap Bruce wide awake. He reached for the boy’s hand.

“I know,” he replied, giving a gentle squeeze, mouth downturning sadly. “But he’s back in Arkham now, Tim. You put him there, remember?”

_“No,”_ Tim dry sobbed into his pillow. The noise broke Bruce’s heart. _“Help me, B.”_

His chest was caving in. He gave another squeeze to Tim’s hand, moving the other one up to brush the bangs off of Tim’s forehead.

“I’m right here, Tim,” he replied. “I’m not going to let anything happen to you, I promise.”

_“Don’t want to die,”_ he heaved in through a heavy breath. _“Don’t want to…”_

“That’s not going to happen. You’re safe. _You’re safe.”_

_“... no,”_ Tim muttered, tossing. Against the light from the hallway, Bruce could see little tear tracks making rivulets down his son’s face. _“Can’t let… can’t....”_

The mutters slowly trailed off into something unintelligible, but Bruce sat there for a long time, unable to move. Tim looked so small and helpless when he was sleeping. Regularly he threw his children up against psychotic criminals. If he could fight their committed will for vigilantism, he would, but for now, he would have to settle for this.

“I love you, Tim,” he said, giving one last final squeeze.

He didn’t expect the reply, but it came anyway.

_“Love you too, B.”_


	4. Songbird

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the head-canon: "Dick can't sing."

Bruce isn't expecting alarms to go off quite this early in the morning. It's 9:30 for god's sake, it is far too early―or late, depending on how one looks at it―for emergencies.

Today is the day the Batcomputer gets her security upgrades, he's decided. There are no missions planned and as far as he is aware, all his children are lurking about the manor― _he swears he saw Damian disappear into a cupboard a little while ago, but the boy didn't appear to have any weaponry on him so Bruce let him be._

With his cup o' Joe in one hand, Bruce starts to make his way toward the old grandfather clock, padding down the hall in his Batgirl themed night-socks.

A well placed foot stops him. Quickly, he attempts to correct before he overbalances and loses his mug of coffee on whichever of his children the foot belongs to.

Looking down, he meets the steely gaze of Cass, huddled up on the old hall armchair by the landline phone. She shakes her head at him.

“Cass?” he questions, finally no longer in danger of overbalancing. “Something wrong?”

_Something is definitely wrong._

Another child appears out of nowhere. Batman is well-trained and does not yelp, but he catches Cass's smirk nonetheless.

Tim's head is poking out of the cupboard above the stairs.

“What is it with everybody and lurking in wardrobes today?” Bruce sighs softly, then takes a sip of coffee and relishes the warmth of it.

Tim ignores him.

“You going downstairs?” he asks instead, eyeing Bruce curiously, but with no less warning in his eyes.

_Yes, something is definitely wrong._

“I was planning to,” he nods seriously, lowering his mug just a little as he half-dons the mantle of the night. “Is there a reason I shouldn't?”

Cass and Tim both nod emphatically.

“Now is. Not a good time,” Cass says and then signs a single _'no'_.

Tim's face twists up.

“ _Dick_ is down there.”

Now Bruce is really confused.

“Why is Dick being down there a problem?” he asks, frowning.

Duke's head pops out of the library.

“Because,” he interjects. “He _said_ the water pressure was better down there.”

Cass and Tim both nod again, even more emphatically this time.

Tim's voice drops into a whisper.

“He's _singing_ , B. Dick is singing in the shower.”

Suddenly, Bruce understands. Giving all three of his blessed children a smile and thanking whatever deity gave them to him, he turns on his heel and decides the Batcomputer upgrades can be done another day. Best not to get hearing loss today.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You may have noticed I've marked this story as complete, but I'm going to continue adding to it.


End file.
